


let my shoes lead me forward

by agent_orange



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of the boy who loved you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let my shoes lead me forward

There are three singles in the suite, so everybody has his own room. Some of Dustin's friends are jealous, because they have to share a bathroom with more guys, or because they've got a suite but no privacy. Mark likes it, normally—he can close himself off from the rest of the world without a problem and fuck around on the computer without anybody barging in and bothering him. He thinks better when he's alone. He thinks better when he's alone. All in all, it's pretty convenient.

But it's not very convenient when Eduardo has to tiptoe—which he fucking sucks at—into the suite, across the common area, and into Mark's room in the middle of the night

"Hey," Eduardo whispers. Or tries to. He's not doing a very good job of being quiet. "Sorry it took me so long. I had a lot of reading."  

Apparently Eduardo's had to repeat himself—Mark's wired in; Eduardo makes sure Mark's work is saved and backed up, and then he shuts down the computer.

With Eduardo's knees planted on either side of Mark's thighs, it's just short of a tight fit for both of them in the bed, and neither of them take up a lot of room, at least in terms of width. But they're pressed so close together, bodies touching at almost every point as Eduardo's tongue is in Mark's mouth, doing things that should be illegal, that neither of them really care.

Eduardo's hands can't stay in one place for more than half a minute, it seems like. He touches Mark's hair, Mark's face, the small of Mark's back. He tugs ineffectually at the arms of Mark's t-shirt before pulling away and just yanking the thing over Mark's head, giving Mark static shock in the process.

"Ow," Mark complains, but Eduardo's there to make Mark forget everything but how it feels to have their mouths sealed so closely together Mark can't _breathe_. He knows Eduardo has more experience, and he's fine with the past because he's the one who gets to reap the benefits now.

He's wearing sweatpants, no boxers, and Eduardo gasps a little into Mark's mouth when he dips his hand past the waistband.

"For me?" Wardo asks quietly, though the answer's obvious. From anyone else, it'd sound like cheesy porn dialogue, but the way Eduardo says it makes Mark's dick jerk.

Mark nods, just barely, and pushes his hips up desperately. Eduardo laughs, filling Mark's ears and warming his body, but he gives Mark's ass a firm squeeze. Really, that's one of Mark's 'touch here and I'll do anything' spots, so he considers it a win. Especially because it forces their bodies even closer together, their dicks rubbing together through cotton and denim.

Only a few minutes pass before the kissing and touching isn't enough. Mark's hands shake as they fumble with Eduardo's belt—he's keyed-up with adrenaline and caffeine—but Eduardo's there to steady him, just like always. He guides Mark through the toggle and snap and zip, so gently it almost hurts, and then tugs Mark's sweats down, pushing the clothes aside so Mark can feel the softness of Eduardo's bare skin on his.

"Fuck," Mark says. His throat feels like it's closing up. He knows it's not. They haven't done this enough times for it to be completely familiar.

Mark's still getting accustomed to the weight of Eduardo's body over his own; how smooth Eduardo's tanned skin is under Mark's fingers.

Eduardo wraps his hand firmly around Mark's dick and squeezes. Mark has to close his eyes and think about systems just so he doesn't come right there and end it before they've even really gotten started.

"Shit," he breathes. "You have to...I can't..." 

"I know," Eduardo says. "Just let me."

*

The crick Mark has in his neck when he finally wakes up is _terrible_. His mouth tastes stale and sour all at once, his head feels thick; and the sheets are stuck to his belly. He opens his eyes enough to see that Eduardo's lying on his stomach with his face towards Mark, his arm slung over Mark's chest so he's effectively pinned to the bed.

"Wardo," Mark mumbles. "Lemme up. Need to piss. 'n mouthwash."  

Eduardo's response is completely unintelligible, and Mark carefully extracts himself from the bed and pads into the bathroom.

Chris is shaving. He's using Mark's bathroom. Supposedly, it's cleaner than the one he shares with Dustin. Mark doesn't believe that for a second, mostly because he never keeps track of what is currently where and how clean or dirty something is until it threatens to make him sick or kill him or absorb his coursework.

It's a good thing Mark remembers he's naked before Chris spots him. He grabs the nearest towel, covers himself, and clears his throat.

"Can you do this in your own?" Mark asks. "I have to pee."

That gets him radio silence. Chris's eyes move from Mark's hair (which he's sure is a mess) to Mark's throat, and why is—?

 _Oh_.

Hickeys. On Mark's neck. That Eduardo left there last night, teeth sharp against Mark's skin.

"Congrats, man," Chris says. "Must've been good. Do I know her?"

Mark starts having a coughing fit and is made to drink a glass of water, which helps, and it also diverts Chris's attention away from his original question.

"I should probably get to my class," Chris says. "Fuckin' Biochem."

Mark nods, grateful, and heads back into his room, where Eduardo's awake. The sheets are half-draped over him, his skin somehow tan. He smiles when he sees Mark, even draws him in for a kiss.

"I have so much work to do today," Eduardo complains, "but I didn't want to leave before you got back. How about I shower, get us both some breakfast, and study here?"

"Sure," Mark replies. "I don't have class until late."

Eduardo pushes back the sheets, stands up, and disappears into the bathroom. It doesn't take long for the steam to make its way into Mark's room through the gap between the door and the ceiling. His eyes fall shut—it's still early in the morning—and soon he drifts off to the sound of running water.

*

Something shifts next to him, and that's what forces Mark from drowsy to conscious. Underneath the comforter, Eduardo's legs are tangled with Mark's, long and slender, like the rest of him, and not at all cold. His foot touches Mark's and Mark doesn't even cringe, even though he hates feet. He doesn't hate Eduardo's, which just goes to show how much Mark cares about him.

"Didn't know you got back already," Mark says. "What's for breakfast?"

"Bagels, juice, fruit, yogurt..." Eduardo's breath is warm against Mark's neck. "You really need to feed yourself with food that isn't just ramen, tuna, and Red Bull," he insists. "You'll waste away if you don't."

"Oh, shit," Mark says. "Mom? You didn't tell me you were coming up for a visit."

Eduardo swats at Mark's hip, ineffectual probably on purpose. "I get the point, but I'm right," he says, "and you know it."

"Please tell me you got strawberry cream cheese." One of his hoodies is right next to the bed, so Mark pulls it over his head without a shirt underneath. It's cold in the dorms, even with what housing costs—old, drafty buildings or some shit. They should level everything and build dorms with fucking insulation, Mark thinks.

"In the bag," Eduardo responds with a smile. The polite thing might be to say 'thank you for your concern' without any sarcasm whatsoever. Needless to say, though, gratitude and sincerity are hardly something he has experience with.

"My mother would love you," he says, trying to put as much conviction as possible into his voice. "You're practically as neurotic and Jewish as she is."

"How nice," Eduardo deadpans. "Just who I was looking to emulate."

*

The Harvard Investment Association picks Eduardo as the president for the coming year; he's so excited when he tells Mark the news.

"They think an underclassman can handle the job?" Mark raises his eyebrows. "Huh. Guess people aren't so predictable after all."

Eduardo blanches. "I think I can learn a lot from it," he says, "and it'll look fantastic on my résumé."

"Well, good luck," Mark says. He doesn't try very hard to sound encouraging. Investment isn't even that impressive; it's all about luck. Most people end up out a big chunk of money and wary of being burned again. He knows Wardo's smart enough to do better than just hedge his bets, sit back, and wait.

*

"This idiot in my CS class said the stupidest thing yesterday," Mark says as they're walking to the bullshit history lecture he really hates. "The professor asked if—"  "Okay," Eduardo interrupts. "I get that you're smarter than anyone else at Harvard ever and never make mistakes, but I'm not even going to realize why what he said was apparently worthy of mockery, so why bother?

"I just thought you might like to hear..."

"About code? No, not really." Eduardo's raised his voice now, and his face is flushing with anger. "You really don't even care about other people, do you? I only ever get your full attention when..." he shakes his head. "Just forget it. Clearly, it's not worth it to you."

"That's not what I meant," Mark insists. "I just thought you might be interested in—"

"Code, Mark." Eduardo runs a hand through his hair, wincing when he pulls it away, since it's probably covered in product. "You've been talking about your CourseMatch thing or whatever the fuck it is for weeks. I think it's a great idea, but I just don't understand half the shit you tell me about. It seems like you have no idea what I'm interested in. And you might try asking somebody else about _their_ day, for once."

It's their first fight. It's the middle of the day, and they're standing in the Quad, more than a few handfuls of people scattered by the trees. People are watching them argue, and even Mark realizes that this is a moment so painfully intimate and raw it should only happen back at Mark's room, with the door locked and their voices as muffled as possible.

If Mark was better with emotions, he would have seen this coming. If he was better with people, with relationships. Eduardo pays so much attention to him, and Mark knows he should try to be better. They'd been doing so well, Mark thought, but everybody has a breaking point, and maybe this is theirs. After all, everybody leaves eventually, and Mark knows he's not exactly an easy person to deal with.

"Do we have to do this right now?" Mark asks. "I don't want you to embarrass yourself in front of all these people."

Eduardo's face goes blank for a moment, and then his eyes flash with anger. "Fuck you, Mark." He turns and storms away, leaving people staring at both of them.

*

A few days later, though, Mark's playing video games and realizes somebody's been pounding on the door for at least ten minutes. It's Eduardo, of course. It wouldn't be anyone else.

"Can we talk?" he asks. "I shouldn't have flipped out at you."

"I wasn't trying to comment about the lack of intelligence of CS students at Harvard," Mark says, "and it wasn't my intention to bore you. I just thought you'd find my insight funny."  

"I know," Eduardo says. "Sometimes you just...sometimes it's too much, Mark."

Mark's not really sure what he's supposed to say and/or do now, if anything. He nods and hopes it's enough. He also hopes it's not too much.

"Here." He hands Mark a package of Twizzlers. "I bought these for you."

Mark gives him a smile in return. "Dustin got _The Matrix Reloaded_ on DVD. We could order a pizza and just stay in tonight," he offers.

"I'd like that."


End file.
